


Whatever it takes

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: All of them support Tony, Brunnhilde x Loki if you squint, Bucky is finished with them, Bucky isn't about their shit, Bucky plays bodyguard, Extremis Tony, M/M, Not Clint Friendly, Not Wanda Friendly, Rogues come home, Rogues live in the Tower, There are science parties mentioned, There's a lot of cast, This is a Tony Stark is loved party, This is a happy place for Tony, Tony Stark Defense Legion, Tony is a loved bean, but its there, its all over the place, its there i promise, like ya'll are even surprised, my nerds deserve to be happy, tbh this is Tony x Happiness fluff, thems the rules, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 19:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: “Look, not that I’m not grateful and all,” Tony began in a huff, “but did you seriously just get shot for me?”“Was I not supposed to?” Barnes asked flatly, gruff voice and hot breath curling around the soft skin of Tony’s neck, the oppressively comforting weight of the Winter Soldier on his back made Tony glad Extremis was pumping in his veins becauseseriously, a hard-on in response to an assassination attempt? What kind of fuck-up am I?





	Whatever it takes

 

Tony had always known that he’d be saddled with housing his former teammates once the ink on those pardons dried.

At least at first.

They weren’t exactly safe for public consumption.

Plus, no one else wanted the responsibility.

The people of the world barely wanted them on the same planet after one too many unauthorized missions they undertook to “save” people ended in an actual civil war in one country, an overthrow of the government in another and a destabilization of peace treaties in a third.

His Royal Kittiness was still paying dividends to each nation effected on behalf of his unruly houseguests. If not for his continued regal cool and finely honed international relation skills, Tony would’ve been concerned for the young king and his country.

But that was neither here nor there because it wasn’t his problem anymore, it was _Tony’s._

The hard part wasn’t even that he had to live with the Rogues again.

The Rogues maintained the same living arrangements as they had in Avengers Tower, now Stark Tower again, with individual floors and common areas, and everyone basically living their lives independent of each other and overlapping only when they wanted to (except they weren’t allowed to go outside without supervision, a minor inconvenience when their every need was being met in-house).

It was easy enough to avoid his houseguests in the penthouse and the workshop, and if nothing else, Tony had a rotating delegation of Hell’s Kitchen’s finest (For a blind guy Matt’s judging-you eyes hit the heart), Wakandan royalty (Princess Shuri insisted that if she _had_ to come to America, it was somewhere with technology that didn’t make her want to puke), the Guardians (He, Quill and Gamora had a standing karaoke night) and the “Revengers” (Thanks to Extremis, Tony’s alcohol tolerance was through the roof and Brunnhilde was the best drinking buddy. On the occasion that Loki visited, the three of them hate-watched Harry Potter and the Cursed Child until Thor had to put Tony and Loki over his shoulders and drag an angry-drunk Brunnhilde away by her collar) inhabiting the floors that physically separated Tony from the levels housing the Rogues.

No, the actual hard part was the Winter Soldier, a gift specifically given to him from the Universe herself, solely to give Tony inappropriate hard-ons

(In his defense, Tony hadn’t shown anyone any romantic or sexual attention since he and Pepper mutually split before the “Civil War” fiasco, and James Barnes from the history war reels was singlehandedly responsible for Tony’s realization that at twelve, guys did it for him too.

Besides, despite Extremis, Tony _was_ still human.):

“Look, not that I’m not grateful and all,” Tony began in a huff, “but did you seriously just get shot for me?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Barnes asked flatly, gruff voice and hot breath curling around the soft skin of Tony’s neck, the oppressively comforting weight of the Winter Soldier on his back made Tony glad Extremis was pumping in his veins because _seriously, a hard-on in response to an assassination attempt? What kind of fuck-up am I?_

“I’ve got nanotech,” he reminded with a scowl. “I don’t need you playing bodyguard.”

“And yet here I am, guarding your body anyway.”

“You took one bullet.”

“ _Two_.”

“Bullshit,” he argued. But damn it, was he bleeding? “Jesus, come on.” The media personnel had scattered once the gunshots had gone off, and Tony dragged Barnes back into the Tower by the arm.

“You realize you aren’t even allowed a gun, right?”

“I don’t have one,” he deadpanned, and if that wasn’t just a load of shit, Tony might’ve considered believing it.

“Then what, did you _throw a bullet between his eyes_?”

Barnes lifted his prosthetic in demonstration, showing off the barely-there dent between the bicep and the back of his forearm. He glanced over his shoulder at Tony and admitted, “I improvised. But I could try that next time.”

Almost reluctantly, Tony huffed out a laugh. “Fine, I’m impressed. Where are you bleeding?”

Willingly, Barnes turned, and right where the shoulder mooring ended, and the meat of his trapezius sat was a rapidly healing bullet wound. Another hole in his Stark Industries hoodie revealed a graze right above his tailbone, next to his spine, and that too was already sewing itself up. The blood was still damp either way, and bright against the off-grey color of the hoodie Barnes was sporting. But besides that, there didn’t seem to be any other damage.

In fact, tugging his hoodie out of the way to see the damage only exposed a muscled back and the whisper of an ass that wouldn’t quit beneath the butter soft feel of his jeans, and – _nope, nope, nope, what the fuck Anthony Edward Stark, what the fuck._

“How’s it looking back there?” Barnes asked, and if it weren’t for his flat delivery, Tony might’ve thought he was flirting.

_Gotta stay away from the liquor cabinet._

Tony huffed through his nose as he dropped the hoodie and backed off so he wasn’t crowding the other man into the corner of the elevator. “You’ll live.”

For longer than necessary, the elevator was quiet until, snorting, Barnes asked, “Now what are you pissed about?”

“Who says I’m pissed?”

He gestured at his own face, lip exaggeratedly stuck out. “The pout you’ve got goin’ on, what’s the deal?”

“Who pouts when they’re pissed?”

“Clearly you.”

Unwilling to reply because _what could he even say?_ They continued to stand in silence until, just as the doors to the elevator opened at one of the common floors, Barnes spoke, “I know you’re not excited about me being here all up in your face, and I know that ‘sorry’ is hardly enough to make up for everything, from your parents to what happened in the Bunker, but I do want to make it up to you.”

“By doing what, exactly,” Tony couldn’t help the snark in his voice, “taking bullets for me?”

Meeting his incredulous expression head-on, steely resolve in blue-grey eyes and stubbled clenched jaw, Barnes straightened his form – practically radiating an imposing force despite his unpaid intern get-up and his dark hair tied loosely in a man bun. “Whatever it takes,” he replied without hesitation and yeah, Tony’s definitely going to hell for construing _that_ all wrong.

Though, it didn’t change the fact that this was the start and end of it all.

The Universe gives, and it takes, _and it takes, and it takes, and it keeps on taking_.

And on the occasion that it finally gave back for all that it took, Tony couldn’t help but think it did it like a back-handed compliment.

_Oh, you thought you weren’t naïve to trust your pseudo-father figure that basically raised you after your parents’ death? Here, have some trust issues, raging PTSD, and a reality check; you’ll thank me later!_

_Oh, you liked breathing? Here, have an artificial sternum and the equivalent of a car battery in your chest to replace the_ actual _car battery that was attached to your chest. You’ll later be on the brink of dying whilst being imprisoned in your own home and threatened with a taser all while having an electromagnet in your chest that could, in turn, cause damage to your already fragile heart. You’re welcome._

_Oh, it’s so sweet how you think the moon calls for you, and how you can wax poetic about the stars. Do you want to fly into a wormhole while attached to a nuke, because I think that could be fun too!_

_Look at you trying to prepare for the inevitable! Always a go-getter, you whipper-snapper you! But what if….no, no, don’t look so frightened, it’ll be fun to having everyone distrust and hate you, and then welcome with open arms the Witch that turned your PTSD up to twenty._

_Also, you’re responsible for her now, even though she’s a grown ass adult, so yay!_

_Oh, you thought you accepted your parents’ death and healing and growing as a person? Aren’t you adorable?  The reality of you getting fucked around by nearly everyone you trust isn’t all bad! How about a trip to Siberia, the fresh air will do wonders for you – sixty-two hours is pushing it a bit, what with the internal bleeding and all, but the perspective will be good for you!_

_Oh, I know you were attached to your humanity and everything, but I promise, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be! I mean…what if…No, I swear it’ll be good this time, trust me, you’ll love it!_

_It’s like the ultimate youth serum except now you’ve got the entire mainframe of the world basically downloaded into your brain, and hey, I deserve some credit for this, I’m letting you breathe normally again! Who cares if you’re not all human anymore, I’m doing you a real favor here – how do you expect to survive all these enhanced people coming for your fine ass when you’re just a man?_ **(Spitefully.)** _Oh, I knew I liked you!_

_So, I heard you’re doing great, it’s been a good year for you, I’m glad!_

_The Accords are all worked out, you’ve got allies across the world that don’t require your bank account or your resources; and a kid too, I know he isn’t yours but look at that admiration and closeness, Petey adores you!_

_And oh, you’ve finally got the time and the tech and the aid (from Wakanda, who knew they could be so generous? I did, obviously!) in helping you atone for all the damage wrought in the world, aren’t you such a little do-gooder! You’re going through therapy, you’ve got people that love and support you, and that’s – no, no, don’t look at me like that! I’m not going to take any of them away._

_In fact, I’m going to keep giving you things, aren’t I nice?_

_Here, have the douchebags that fucked you up from earlier! Let’s also not forgot your mother’s murderer. He’s really working that hobo-chic, dontcha think?_

And yes, okay, _fine._

Barnes playing bodyguard was an interesting takeaway from having the Douchebag Brigade back in his house, even if the man could still leak murder from his pores on a good day.

Still, Tony resolved to avoid Barnes as much as possible which he thought would be easy enough.

Half the time, no one could even find the man.

Despite all the carnage porn the Winter Soldier starred in during the whole Project Insight situation, he lived up to his “ghost story” legend right until he wanted to be found – and oh, what a lovely, lethal sight he was:

Tony never really went into the common areas until Bruce made him, and it technically _was_ his turn to go hunting for food, so he steeled himself and joined the unwashed masses.

If it weren’t for Extremis, Tony might have been startled when the Witch and Barton crept up on him; disinterestedly vile and lips curling in feral smiles, casually lazing around like they belonged there and looking at him like he so clearly _didn’t_.

“Looking to take something else from us today, Stark? Our lives next, perhaps?” Maximoff asked, all cloying sweetness and red haze.

“Seen yours, not impressed,” he retorted, opening the fridge to grab at some supplies, tucking Bruce’s container of space brownies from his last foray into the kitchen under his arm and pointedly ignoring the crimson mist hanging like a cloud overhead as Barton snickered at her shoulder.

His nervous swallow was easily concealed.

The number of times he’d been threatened in his own home by the same people he took in like stray kittens would be laughable if it didn’t mean his therapist had a helluvalot to work with to last the rest of Tony’s life.

Nonetheless, it was hardly new for Tony, particularly where Maximoff was involved.

He wouldn’t shake. He wouldn’t quiver. He wouldn’t be afraid.

He knew fear and pain – _the shield coming down over-and-over-and-over; his mother’s muffled scream; “he was my friend, he was my friend, he was my friend” –_ and her eyes were the wrong color.

That didn’t stop Barnes from treating a spoon like a spoon though. 

The red fog abruptly evaporated, and Tony turned to follow it, a bowl of blueberries in hand to find Barton turning an interesting shade of reddish-purple, clawing unsuccessfully at the hand wrapped around his throat while Maximoff was frozen pale with a knife at hers. “W-What are you doing?!”

“Levelling the playing field,” was his simple reply. “You gonna let the man housing and clothing you eat in peace?”

 Begrudgingly, Dumb and Dumber nodded, and Barnes’ hold on them slacked, though he remained between and slightly behind them – and Tony could bet Bruce’s brownies that gun or no gun, there had to be something keeping those two in check besides Barnes’ serial killer magnetism.

The man’s expression though belied nothing.

At least he showered; his hair was still damp and his skin still dewy pink, his grey shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, a splatter of water running down the front like he’d hastily put it on. He must’ve been in some kind of rush, Tony reasoned, Barnes didn’t even have a belt on, and – _Christ, when did Stark Industries have a line of Calvin Klein looking boxer-briefs?_

Tony raised an unimpressed brow and deadpanned, “My hero.”

After that, things went to hell in a handbasket pretty quickly regardless of the living situation he (un)willingly jailed himself to while the Rogues were undergoing probation. Tony had thought they were all walking the careful tightrope of co-existence and completely ignoring one another, quite well.

But of course, Bird Boy and Wicked Witch tattled to the good Ole Captain almost immediately after Tony left the kitchen, and now he was being subjected to _this_ – “What do you have to say for yourself?” – a fucking reprimand by the guy Tony couldn’t even look at without wanting to roll his eyes.

God, as if the Rogues could afford another showdown.

They barely had support as it was, if Tony turned them on their asses, they’d definitely not be living the life under the Billionaire Boys’ Club. On his more petty days, Tony let himself indulge in that daydream.

But now – _oh now,_ if Steven Grant Rogers _pushed_ so help him, God, Pepper had dibs to rip them to shreds and hang their insides out to dry, and Rocket had been itching to turn someone into confetti because it was quote, “very important to him”. That his friends made it clear that they were more than willing to throw down if the Rogues stepped out of line filled Tony with righteous confidence, _You should have stayed on your side of the goddamn Tower._

All while Rogers continued to parade around the living room like he was the displeased king of the castle.

Bruce, the only person living consistently in the Tower amongst those Tony called his friends, looked both baffled and annoyed at the display, but before he could voice that opinion – and Bruciebear was looking a little green around the gills – Barnes spoke up from the neutral ground of the kitchen, “It was my fault, Stevie.”

“Buck -”

“I was just walking by,” he began slowly, but firmly, voice quiet with an almost confused furrow in his brow. “Didn’t know what was going on, just that this red _thing_ started up and it was making my head…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Rogers flew into mother-hen mode like a switch had been flipped, and Bruce’s expression went from what-the-fuck to _what-the-fuck_. “I get it Buck, I do, I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you, Wanda’s just a kid, she didn’t mean it -”

“I don’t like her,” Barnes declared, ignoring her indignant splutter, turning to Steve with big blue eyes. “She willingly worked with Hydra, Steve, I can’t – you can’t expect me to…” He looked away, almost ashamed, and – _motherfucker._

Ignoring Maximoff’s discontent, Rogers continued to placate and comfort his best friend, and over his shoulder, Barnes’ lip twitched.  

 _Gad_ damn.

Practically the day after, Stephen Strange arrived to take Maximoff away, _for training_ , he’d said, and though his expression belied his utter displeasure at such a task, Tony couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin from forming on his.

Or help how Tony gripped Bruce’s shoulder in shared relief.

Brucie had even gone out into the Zen garden just outside the common floor, and he and Vision were doing _yoga_ of all things. 

It had only been a few hours and already everyone in the Tower seemed to breathe a united, sigh of relief.

Due credit had to be paid, “You’re a national treasure, Winter Wonderland.”

Barnes exhaled a smile, but otherwise said nothing as Tony continued to work on adjustments to the prosthetic, a fun little project he, Princess Shuri and Helen collaborated on. The design was all Tony’s, but the integration had been the princess’, and the installation’s Helen’s.

Tony missed working on science projects when he wasn’t the smartest person in the room; he’d have to drag Peter, Rhodey, and Harley over to look up making that hoverboard from Back to the Future, or maybe they’d go full scale and aim for the DeLorean?

 “But seriously,” Tony continued, “that’s your debt paid in full.”

He wiggled a metallic finger. “Then what about this?”

“What, the arm? Listen, I’m doing this for fun,” he declared. He’d never admit how therapeutic it was, even if Princess Shuri told him that, “if you insist on being strange, Colonizer, I won’t get in your way” and then proceeded to give him alone time while Tony worked through the emotional turmoil that came with giving his mother’s murderer a new limb.

“You’re a strange one, Stark,” Barnes exhaled.

Tony snickered. “You’re not the first one who’s told me that.”

He worked in relative silence after that, only disturbed when Barnes asked quietly, “The Hydra Witch scare you that much?”

Tony had eight years of nightmares; of losing everyone he ever thought he cared about, of not being enough to keep them safe, of not being able to protect them, of their dead bodies taunting, _“You should have done more.”_

“She used to,” Tony admitted.

And now –

In a blink, he could check in with those that really mattered:

Vision and Bruce, doing yoga.

Pepper, holding court over the Stark Industries board; confident, happy, safe.

Helen recording the newest results for the Cradle.

Harley helping his sister with homework while their mom ruffled their hair.

Happy polishing that classic car while Downton Abbey reruns played on the laptop nearby.

Rhodey instructing a select group of new cadets, proud grin a permanent fixture as he helped a scrawny barely eighteen-year-old get his bearings.

Peter talking smack with Ned and Michelle over Discord as they attempted to one-up one another on some online game; May waving away the smoke from the oven after another failed meatloaf through the crack of Peter’s bedroom door.

Matt, Jessica, and Luke watching trash television and eating take-out.

Strange and Wong playing backgammon like a couple of nerds while Beyoncé blasted in the background.

Loki, at some community theatre in Hollywood, because _of course, he would_ with Brunnhilde, feet propped up on the chairs in front of her, balancing a beer and a fond smile she easily masked with a smirk and a snicker.

Thor being his kingly self as he eased the Asgardians to life on Midgard (“This is a dog,” he introduced, a corgi held above his head like the next coming of Simba. Hands raised. “No, you cannot ride him. He is too small.” The hands went down, Tony snorted.)

The Wakandan royalty, testingt out tech in Princess Shuri’s lab, with the princess throwing a wink over her shoulder at the computer in her signature “just wait” fashion before her brother rebounded and flew across the room. Under a heap, the king shouted, “Delete that footage immediately!”

Nebula pinging him through Extremis to let him know that she appreciated the adjustments on one of her many mechanical parts while her sister, Gamora, and the rest of the Guardians kept an on-going inventory of alien tech for Tony to play with once they came back.

“Not anymore?”

Even if the red haze still whispered, however weakly in his mind that Tony couldn’t do it all, he couldn’t keep everyone he loved safe, could barely keep himself alive without sacrificing his humanity to do it.  

That there were things still coming, that the vision could still be a reality except _more_ – there were more people that Tony loved now then he did before – he’d have more to lose – more people to disappoint – more people to fail –

What if it wasn’t enough – what if _he_ wasn’t enough –

Friday’s code brushed lovingly against him, _“You’ll never fail us, Boss, you’re not doing this alone.”_

Barnes, noting his inhuman stillness, watched him quietly. 

Not necessarily bracing for the other shoe to drop but waiting patiently nonetheless.

Barnes did a lot of waiting around him, Tony noticed; waiting for him to fuck up, maybe. But more likely waiting for Tony to throw punches or repulsor him in the face, not that Tony ever did – or thought to do – even on his worst days.

It hit Tony, now of all times, how Barnes had put his implicit trust in him.

Tony Stark, whose reputation proceeded him in all the bad ways it could from the people that had worked with him, claimed to know him, _hated him_ ; the war profiteer, the reckless genius, the futurist, the Merchant of Death.  

Iron Man, yes; Tony Stark, not recommended.

Barnes had heard all that and _still_ found him worth protecting and defending – found it important still to honor the debt of goodwill Tony had fashioned when he brought them home.

Still found something worthy about Tony that he put himself in his corner; trusted him with his prosthetic, trusted him with those almost unnaturally soft blue eyes, and the tentative physical contact he’d been careful to dole out, but seemed willing to give Tony anyway – if only to ground the engineer – if only to offer him that meagre comfort because –

James Barnes trusted Tony Stark.

_Physical attraction meet Feelings._

His flesh hand on Tony’s sent warmth through his arm and chest, just as Friday and the rest of his robotic children’s code brushed up against him through his connection with Extremis in the closest thing to a hug they could have in their forms.

Seemingly, the last red tendrils of Maximoff’s magic whimpered in his mind as it was snuffed, all that came with it – _“sometimes my friends don’t tell me things”, “I didn’t know it was him”, “…yes.” –_ all of it gone, deleted like bad code.

Barnes smiled a little as if he could see the burden lifted, and Tony smiled back, small and grateful.

“No,” he exhaled, “no one scares me anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this kind of fit for the ending of this series? I mean, I probably will still continue writing some more stuff for it (I have a file of the mess I took out of the other entries that could still fit into this series), but I think it makes for a pretty good ending?
> 
> Also, here's an [ AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822310) of mine that hasn't gotten much attention, if you're into it, feel free to check it out.
> 
> [Click here if you want to find out more about my work](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/)


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